


Secrets & Santas

by Willow_bird



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: (not THE Office - just AN office), Gay Disaster Andrew Minyard, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Office AU, POV Andrew Minyard, Pining, Secret Santa, This was supposed to be a drabble, Workspace AU, holiday fic, look i didn't put too much thought into it, they're publishers and/or editors and stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:20:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28257579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willow_bird/pseuds/Willow_bird
Summary: “Can I help you, Andrew?”“Give me and Neil to each other for the stupid Secret Santa thing.”Her eyes widened in surprise. “What..? Wait, why?”“Just do it.”---Andrew Minyard has been low-key pining for Neil ever since he transferred to the debut sci-fi/fantasy floor and when everyone is forced to participate in a Secret Santa he gets a verygaybrilliant idea:Arrange it so that he and Neil have each other. What could go wrong?
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 59
Kudos: 429
Collections: All For The Game random short stories





	Secrets & Santas

**Author's Note:**

> This... this was supposed to be a drabble. 
> 
> I have no excuse....

##  **FOXPAW PUBLICATIONS ANNUAL SECRET SANTA SIGNUP**

**(NOT OPTIONAL!!!)**

Andrew stared at the two identical posters tacked to the bulletin board. The second one was about a foot lower than the first and was accompanied by a smaller slip of paper (attached via a sparkly reindeer sticker) that said ' _ Minyard & Josten's copy _ '.

The second poster and snarky note were all Neil's fault. Upon being confronted by the party planning committee's spokesperson for why he hadn't participated in any of the office events since joining their department, this asshole had said that all the flyers were "above his usual scanning level" and so he'd missed them completely. Andrew suspected this had something to do with the joking that went around the office when Neil first transferred to their department. He had just come from what most of their floor called "the archives" - historical publications - and there wasn't a single person who worked there under six feet tall. Neil, at being barely over five feet, had obviously been their token short person, and he was now working in debut science fiction and fantasy - where there was now exactly one person shorter than him.

Which would be himself. Andrew had hit five feet tall somewhere around seventh grade and had just... stayed there.

The rest of the office had found this inexplicably hilarious for reasons Andrew had far too many brain cells to understand. Both Andrew and Neil had been the subject of a resurgence of height-centric jokes for months. The flyer and accompanying note were only the most recent in small jibes directed at them from the others.

"If it's not optional, then why is there a sign up sheet?"

Andrew looked over to where Neil had come to stand next to him. He sighed, pointedly ignoring the way the other man's auburn hair curled recklessly around his ears, which were just  _ slightly _ too big for his head, making him look - ironically - a bit like an elf. It was, unfortunately, very cute.

"So they can have a reason to hound you into acknowledgement," Andrew informed dryly as he turned back to the bulletin board.

"Huh." Neil shrugged, then uncapped an enormous chisel-point fluorescent orange highlighter. In giant capital letters he wrote  **NE** on a sharp incline on the lower sheet, then  **IL** on the higher sheet, picking up the second half of his name from the bottom corner and invading the lower third of the page. When he finished he called the marker and stepped back to observe his work. Satisfied, he flashed Andrew a smirk before pocketing the highlighter and turning to stroll back to his desk with a bounce in his step.

Andrew watched him go, then turned back to the bulletin board. After another moment he uncapped the fine-point permanent marker (black) and in all lower-case compact script wrote  **a. minyard** in the very top right hand corner of the lower sheet.

*****

Four committee members loomed over Neil's desk like an angsty wake of impatient vultures. From where Andrew was watching over by the copy machine, he saw Neil sigh and lean back in his chair, tilting his head to look at each manicured raptor with poorly-feigned confusion.

"There a problem?" the auburn-headed menace asked lightly as he landed his gaze on the leader of the flock.

Dan held up a piece of paper that Andrew couldn't identify from where he was not even bothering to pretend to make more copies at this point. “This isn’t acceptable, Neil. You have to actually fill out the sheet or your Secret Santa won’t know what to get you!”

“They shouldn’t get me anything.”

“That isn’t how this works.”

“It can be,” Neil said with a shrug, totally unbothered.

Dan pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. Her cheery smile was significantly more forced when she looked down at him again. “Neil. I don’t know how they did things over in the archives, but here we’re like a family. We celebrate together, and yes - sometimes we do silly, campy little activities like Secret Santa and Theme Weeks. Would it really kill you to play along?”

Neil considered that. “I mean, you’re the one who related it to family - so maybe?” He must have seen the disparaging looks just about the entire committee sent him because he sighed and snatched the paper out of Dan’s hand. “Right. Fine. Got it.”

Dan beamed at him, and didn’t seem to notice the barely-restrained cringe Neil gave when she reached out and ruffled his hair. “Thanks, Neil. I promise you, this Christmas is going to be great! You won’t regret it!” Then, with matching grins of triumph, the whole gaggle of them swarmed off. 

Instead of watching them go, Andrew kept his eyes on Neil. He watched him slump in his chair and look at the paper in his hands with an expression too complicated for Andrew to decipher. There was a pull in his chest as he watched him that was disconcertingly familiar - as it had been happening a lot around Neil lately. The punch of attraction that usually hit a bit lower was understandable. After all, Neil was attractive and Andrew was certifiably  _ gay _ . The feelings that were starting to go along with that pull of  _ want,  _ on the other hand. That? That wasn’t something he was used to. 

It was also what he would later blame for incredibly impulsive (and possibly very, very stupid) decision he made next.

Abandoning both the originals and his copies at the copier, Andrew turned away from the machine and made a direct line for Dan’s little alcove. She had only just sat down herself and looked up at him with a wary expression. 

“Can I help you, Andrew?”

“Give me and Neil to each other for the stupid Secret Santa thing.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “What..? Wait, why?”

“Just do it.” Though his tone was utterly flat and he was confident in the blankness of his expression, Dan seemed to sense something anyway. She always  _ had _ been a bit too smart for her own good. It was one of the reasons he chose to listen to her from time to time. 

She leaned forward slightly, looking up at him with a bit too much curiosity in her eyes. She didn’t call him out on it, but she didn’t have to -- not with the way her lips quirked up on one side in a bit-too-pleased smirk. 

“Alright,” she said with a shrug, leaning back again and turning toward her computer. “At least that way I don’t have to worry about someone else being stuck with him as their Santa.” Which was ironic, considering she was the one forcing him to participate -- but Andrew decided not to further a dialogue here when he had already exposed himself more than he would have liked. Without bothering to acknowledge her agreement, Andrew turned to go back to his tasks for the day. He paused when Dan called out after him, “Oh and Andrew?”

He looked over at her and thought fondly of violence at the smugness on her face.

“Go get ‘im, tiger.”

He flipped her off and ignored her cheerful cackling as he returned to his desk.

*****

The Secret Santa assignments were hand-delivered the next day. It was a legitimate  _ coincidence _ that had Andrew looking over just as Neil was receiving his. 

Neil sighed, his arm weighed with reluctance as he lifted it to pluck the offered envelope from Katelyn’s hand. Andrew watched as Neil studied the front of the envelope where his name was scrawled before flipping it over and untucking the flap. He pulled out the sheet of paper and unfolded it, and all at once his demeanor changed. It  _ flipped _ . Instead of being annoyed and reticent he looked excited. He sat up straight, his eyes widening, and on his face was the most beautiful  _ grin _ . 

All because he’d seen that it was Andrew’s name at the top of the paper. 

Andrew quickly looked back at his computer, desperately trying to ignore the sudden stampede charging through his chest. 

*****

Katelyn had come by only a little while later with his own envelope, but Andrew decided against opening it at his desk. There was no point. He knew who he’d been assigned, unless Dan had changed her mind -- in which case he really didn’t care anyway. 

Instead, he waited until he got home that evening. Only once he was back in the relative safety of his apartment, settled on the couch with King curled up beside him, did he pull the envelope from his bag.

**Name:** Neil?  
 **Favorite Color:** Wow that’s original… Gray I guess..? Orange is ok.  
 **Favorite Snack:** ~~Idk~~ I guess I like fruit?  
 **Favorite Drinks:** ~~none~~ ~~tea but not that iced crap~~ ~~black tea~~ ~~nothing~~ tea  
 **Favorite Restaurants:** 7-11  
 **Favorite Stores:** 7-11??  
 **Favorite Scents:** the acridity of my past sins  
 **Hobbies:** ~~no?~~ ~~I don’t like this game~~ ~~smoking with andrew?~~ ~~Idk~~ ~~writing~~ soccer  
 **I absolutely love:** ~~this is fucking stupid~~ nvm i love my cat she’s perfect  
 **I really need:** to never have to do this again  
 **I like to relax by:** smoking ~~with andrew~~  
 **I DON’T like:** ~~to be alone~~ this  
 **I DON’T need:** anything.

Andrew stared at the paper for a long time. He folded it back up, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath - then he unfolded it and read it again. It was difficult to read through the bits that had been scratched out but he thought he was able to piece together most of it (was that his name on there?  _ twice?) _ and while there wasn’t exactly  _ a lot _ to go on he was definitely learning something. 

“Seven-eleven, Neil?  _ Really? _ ” Andrew sighed and shook his head, scratching idly at the stubble along his jaw as he thought this through. He wished he could say that he had an advantage since he and Neil did talk to each other more than they did to anyone else at the office. They were - and Andrew used this word fairly conservatively - friends. He and Neil chatted before and after work, and shared smoke breaks most days. Sometimes they talked through them and sometimes they took their seven minutes in an amicable silence, it just sort of depended on the day. But even with all that, this one piece of paper probably told him more about Neil than he’d learned in almost four months of knowing each other. 

And Andrew… really wasn’t sure how to feel about it.  _ 7-11!?  _ That part was going to haunt him. The two places where Andrew was pretty sure Neil had called out one of his (few) favorite things to do was be around  _ him? _ Not something he was likely to get over anytime soon. The scratched-out word in the ‘I don’t like’ section that had the right length and shape to be ‘ _ alone’ _ but was altogether obscured too much for Andrew to be completely certain? It matched some of the private assessments Andrew had made of Neil, but that he’d almost actually  _ admitted _ it was another thing altogether. 

In previous years when Andrew got his Secret Santa assignment he would read through it and then throw out the sheet. He didn’t need to keep it around to remember what was on it and usually had his gifts planned before he even finished skimming it. This time, Andrew read through Neil’s sheet several times before carefully folding it. When he went into his bedroom later on that evening he would tuck it safely away in the pages of his journal. Perhaps this was unwisely sentimental, but Andrew sure as fuck wasn’t about to tell on himself, so it wasn’t like anyone would ever have to know. 

*****

**DAY ONE**

Andrew swung by work early on Monday morning in order to set up his first gift for Neil. He knew that Neil biked in every day and was usually one of the first people at the office (whereas Andrew was chronically one of the last to stroll in somewhere between  _ exactly _ nine and ten-after) and he wanted to have the gift waiting for Neil on his desk when he arrived. Since he wasn’t sure what time Neil  _ actually _ got in every day, Andrew had decided to err on the side of caution. He got up at something close to dawn and pulled into the parking lot a little bit after seven. The intention was to get upstairs, drop off the gift, then leave again and go reward himself with the most expensive coffee he could find in the immediate area before returning to work in a couple of hours. 

What Andrew had apparently forgotten was that while he had arranged things so that he would get Neil -- he had also made sure that Neil had  _ him _ for this Secret Santa exchange. He had watched Neil open his envelope, had  _ seen _ his reaction to this -- but that somehow had not translated into the idea that Neil was actually going to participate. 

Apparently he had decided to do so, though, because there - sitting on Andrew’s desk - was a plant. Not just  _ any _ plant. It was an  _ aichryson laxum _ , a tree-like succulent with clusters of star-shaped yellow flowers. It was beautiful, and Andrew was legit impressed that Neil had seen ‘succulents’ on his sheet and had actually known what that meant. This was slightly overshadowed by the fact that of  _ all the damn succulents in the world _ Neil had to pick the one whose common name was  _ the Tree of Love _ . 

Andrew needed to sit down for a minute.

It took him about six and a half minutes of staring before he noticed the folded note leaning against the base of the trunk-like stem. There were only four words written on it, in loopy cursive that Andrew hadn’t known Neil was capable of. 

_ His name is Leafy. _

*****

Dan stopped by his desk later on that day, looking far too amused for her own health. 

“I don’t know that I’ve ever seen Neil look quite that cozy,” she commented, almost in an offhand sort of way, like she hadn’t come all they way over here  _ just  _ to chat about how Neil had been sitting at his desk all damn day wrapped up in a blanket with cats on it that looked remarkably like his own while holding a mug that  _ definitely  _ looked exactly like Sir because Andrew had gotten his far-more-artistic cousin to paint it himself to match her markings. 

The most difficult part about that whole gift was the tea itself, because there was a  _ lot _ of fucking tea around and Neil hadn’t really given him a lot to go on. Andrew had been able to decipher enough of the scratched out bits to figure out that he wanted black tea, but not iced tea - but the connotation with the way he’d  _ written _ iced tea had made him think there was more to it than him just not liking cold tea. He’d had to do  _ research.  _ Which, to be fair, was actually something that Andrew sort of liked to do. 

So he’d taken what he knew about Neil - both from his own observations and the little that Neil had told him over the past few months - and combined it with the hints from the info sheet. He was able to break it down enough to know he needed to get something that was accepted by the general populace of the UK. Slight lapses in Neil’s accent from time to time and little hints here and there about family overseas had Andrew suspecting for a while now that Neil had spent a significant amount of time in Great Britain. He was  _ pretty sure _ Neil’s family was from England, but Neil himself had never been so specific. 

Well, not entirely true. He’d been specific enough to itemize exactly how and why England, Britain, Great Britain, and the UK were all Very Different Things That Should Not Be Confused.

So he’d selected one of the highest-selling brands in Britain (which thankfully was also readily available in the US), narrowed his search to loose-leaf, ordered the five most popular flavors (how were there so many flavors of  _ black tea!? _ ), and then sampled them throughout the week before finally picking the one that he thought Neil would like the most. He overnighted a fresh tin of it and voila.

“Snug as a kitten in fleece,” Dan said from beside him, all too smug and smirking as they both watched Neil cuddle deeper into his blanket and sip his tea. Apparently he had chosen correctly on all accounts. 

“I don’t think that is a thing people say,” Andrew commented dryly instead of agreeing with her. 

She smirked at him like she could read right though his cutting and always accurate judgement. Andrew ignored her. 

Just as she turned to head back to wherever she came from, the  _ aichryson laxum _ caught her eye and she turned back. “That’s new.” Andrew watched as the realization dawned and her eyes widened slightly. “Did.. did Neil get you a  _ tree _ ?”

Andrew looked from Dan to the succulent in question. Then, without an iota of inflection, he said, “His name is Leafy.”

*****

**DAY TWO**

As tempting as it was to not address Neil’s unfortunate soccer obsession  _ at all _ over the course of the week, Andrew instead decided to only indulge it on Tuesday. As per Unspoken Office Tradition, the second day of the Secret Santa exchange was always some kind of shitty filler gift. Snacks and a fidget toy, a set of pens, a cheeky ornament - that sort of stuff. Andrew’s contribution was a rubber ball just slightly smaller than a tennis ball but designed with the image of a soccer ball. 

That this object was kind of like the turducken of sport balls amused Andrew to no end, which was probably why he’d caved and gotten it. 

He had also composed a poem:

_ I don’t know about sport _ _   
_ _ But this is a ball _ __   
_ If you chuck it at KD’s ankles _ _   
_ __ I bet he will fall

‘KD’ referring, of course, to Kevin Day. Andrew wasn’t sure what Neil’s relationship with Kevin was, exactly. If he were a middle school girl eager to make this year’s cheerleading squad he might be tempted to call them ‘frenemies’. 

Either way - he’d left the ball, poem, and a giant honeycrisp apple sitting on Neil’s desk partway through the day when Neil had to head off to a different floor for a meeting. He was sitting at his desk, working his way through the first of three pints of triple-fudge ice cream Neil had left for him in the freezer, when Neil got back. He watched as inconspicuously as possible as Neil reached his desk and picked up the ball and the poem.

The resulting shock of delighted laughter that escaped the other man was a sound Andrew then played on repeat in the back of his head for the rest of the day. 

*****

**DAY THREE**

Neil was late to work on Wednesday. Considering Neil didn’t know what a ‘sick day’ was and was  _ always _ there before Andrew dragged his ass into the office, the ten-minute stretch between Andrew realizing that Neil hadn’t shown up yet and Neil actually arriving was an uncomfortably tense stretch of time. It was getting colder, and they had even had flurries here and there over the last few days -- not enough to stick for more than a few hours, but still more that usual -- and if there were flurries there could be ice. What if Neil had wiped out on his bike, tumbled into traffic, and gotten run over by a pissy holiday driver?

As unnecessarily dramatic as that hypothetical scenario was, knowing Neil - it wasn’t far off from possibility. 

Of course, when Neil  _ did _ show up, it was with an exasperated grin that looked  _ way _ too good on him, his cheeks flushed as he caught his breath just inside the door. He must have booked it up all six flights of stairs (because he clearly didn’t understand how elevators worked) in addition to biking all the way to the office in mid-late December. 

“Sorry,” he panted when everyone turned to look at him. “Almost forgot my Santa gift for today so I had to turn around halfway here.” Then, because he was apparently trying to get locked up for being criminally adorable, he bounced on the balls of his feet - twice - in excitement. 

“Sounds like someone is getting into the holiday spirit,” Andrew teased dryly when Neil passed by his desk. 

Neil just smiled at him. “Nah,” he said, “I just lucked out and got someone special.”

Then, still smiling, the cheeky little fucker walked to his desk - leaving Andrew to unstick his tongue from where it had gotten tangled around his heart somewhere in the middle of his throat.

*****

Andrew waited until the very end of the work day on Wednesday to reveal his third gift. He took his last smoke break when he was sure Neil was otherwise occupied and used it to slip down to the front of the building where Neil had his bike chained up. Since a light frosting of snow had dusted the sidewalk during the afternoon he ended up having to use a fucking tree branch scavenged from the nearby bushes to swish away his footprints. He felt like a character from some campy mystery cartoon,  _ especially _ when Neil pointed out the branch-marks when they walked down the parking lot together at the end of the day. 

“Looks like my person is wanting to remain sneaky,” Neil commented with way too much delight. 

Andrew feigned indifference with a shrug, sucking on one of the Warheads that had been in the planter Neil had slipped onto his desk partway through the day. The planter was in the shape of a Siamese cat’s head and had been filled with iconic candy from the nineties. Warheads, Fun Dip, Pop Rocks; there had even been a thing of Bubble Tape in there. Andrew was admittedly kind of impressed. 

“It is called  _ Secret _ Santa,” Andrew felt the need to point out. He refused to think that he was trying to defend himself. 

“Fair point,” Neil relented, still smiling. He plucked curiously at the nondescript brown paper sack sitting in the basket, then lifted it by where Andrew had folded down and stapled it shut to secure it. He hefted it in his hands, testing the weight, then seemingly trying to feel the contents through it. This was an unnecessary amount of inspection, and Andrew wanted to bark at him to just  _ open the damn thing already _ but was afraid that would make him look too interested. 

Instead, he pulled out his cigarettes and lit up as a way to give his hands something to do. If Neil noticed he was being fidgety he didn’t say anything and just continued prodding at the bag before finally tugging it open. Andrew already knew what was inside, so instead of watching Neil’s hands, he watched his face. He saw the furrow of his brow lift in surprise then flatten in a reflexive mask as he reached in and pulled out the journal Andrew had gotten him. 

It wasn’t anything fancy. It wasn’t hardcover or leatherbound. There was no ribbon bookmark sewn into the binding. It  _ was _ designed to be able to lay flat when opened, and the cover was durable with a snap closure so that it wouldn’t open in Neil’s bag if he chose to carry it with him. The design of it was minimal, but Andrew had seen the gray curling of smoke against the black backdrop and thought of Neil. 

(And maybe he hoped, especially after reading Neil’s info sheet, that Neil would look at it and think of  _ him _ , too.)

Andrew watched as Neil handled the journal like it was a live animal - one that was only temporarily docile and would bite him at any moment. His hands remained steady and his expression tellingly blank as he opened the journal. Inside, Andrew had written him a note on a separate piece of paper - not wanting to force Neil to keep his words if he didn’t want to. 

_ For your words. You always seem to have more to say. You deserve to be able to say them. _

There was a long, heavy moment within which Andrew’s lungs began to burn. He’d taken a drag from his cigarette when Neil had gotten to the note and hadn’t let it out yet. Slowly, like if he moved too quickly or too suddenly he might remind Neil that he was still here and thus break the moment, Andrew turned his head and let the smoke seep out. 

Maybe the smell of smoke or the soft hush of Andrew’s breath was enough to break through, or maybe Neil was just done staring, but he snapped the journal shut and fastened it. Andrew’s heart was beating a little too fast. He could hear it thudding in his ears, reprimanding him (not for the first time) for succumbing to fucking sentiment. Neil had scratched out ‘writing’ on his sheet for a  _ reason _ . Once and only once they had talked about writing, and Neil had said that he used to write when he was a teenager - but his mother hadn’t approved. That she’d attempted to drill into his head that leaving a mark on the world was the last thing he should ever attempt - and what was a more obvious try at making your mark than writing? After all, weren’t words meant to be read?

Andrew had known it was a potentially risky gift, which was why he’d waited until he knew the only one who would be around to see Neil get it was himself. He’d considered skipping the idea altogether, but when he’d seen that particular notebook he’d just…

Well, he’d made a choice. 

He took another quick drag from his cigarette and tapped out the ashes to hide the way his hand was shaking  _ just a little _ . “A journal, huh?” he said - because it seemed like something might say who had no idea what was going on. 

Neil blinked and looked up and over at him, almost like he’d forgotten he was there. There was a tight moment then, as Neil studied him. Andrew realized that he  _ may _ have revealed himself. But hey, he may not have. After all - Neil  _ had _ written ‘writing’ on the info sheet. If Andrew had been able to figure that out through the scrubbles, anyone could have. Neil had also written ‘smoking’ - so that could explain the cover. As for the message… well, Andrew had tried to be vague. He’d thought he had succeeded, but maybe he hadn’t. 

He waited for Neil to ask, but he never did. Instead, after a few rapid heartbeats of too-thoughtful silence, Neil tilted his head and gave a smile. Then he  _ hugged the journal to his chest _ and nodded. “Yeah. Pretty cool, right?”

Andrew had to clear his throat. His heart had tried to nest in it again. 

“Yeah, ah… It is. Was there anything else in the bag?” There was - a set of pens that Andrew personally liked to use for his own writing, and a couple of positively disgusting protein bars that Neil inhaled like they were fucking Kit-Kats. Andrew had thrown them into the bag in an attempt to… lighten the gift and cover his tracks a bit. Either this worked, because Neil chuckled as he looked into the bag and pulled out the other items, or the asshole was totally onto him and thought it was so fucking funny. 

“Cool. Well, I’m going to get home before it really decides to snow,” Andrew segued as non-awkwardly as possible. “You should too. Especially since you’re a freak who doesn’t drive.”

Neil rolled his eyes and flipped him off, but as he was still  **_hugging the journal like a goddamn teddy bear_ ** the effect was somewhat muted. Andrew flicked the remains of his cigarette into the frost-kissed grass and returned the gesture before turning to head to his car without a goodbye.

*****

**DAY FOUR**

Even if Andrew hadn’t already known that Neil was his Secret Santa, he would have figured it out on Thursday morning when he got to his desk. For one, Neil was the only person in the office ballsy enough to pick the lock on the bottom drawer of his desk - which had been left cracked open in a way only Neil would know for certain that Andrew would notice right away. Inside the drawer was an entire fucking cake, decorated with a professionally-piped cat that looked remarkably like King. Now, while Andrew  _ did _ keep a picture of her on his desk, so anyone could have known what she looked like, he and Neil regularly texted pictures of their cats to each other - so he was in the best position to have been able to show a picture to a cake decorator. 

(The cake also said ‘Meow-y Hiss-mas’ - but Andrew was feeling generous enough to suppose that the terrible pun was the baker’s idea.)

On top of the plastic shell protecting the cake was a note in the same loopy writing from the first day that said:

_ I didn’t trust Matt not to eat it like he ate your birthday cupcakes. _

This, Andrew decided, was an acceptable reason for breaking into his desk. 

Also in the drawer was a package that looked like it had been wrapped by a baby dinosaur - given the haphazard folding, over-taping, and suspicious punctures. When Andrew unwrapped it he had to actively bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. 

Neil, that asshole, had gotten (made? - no way, Neil didn’t knit,  _ did he? _ ) him a scarf. It was all black with what looked like they were supposed to be skulls on each end. What had really gotten him, though, were the matching knit gloves. They were also black, except for the white lettering designed into the knuckles that, when put on the correct hands, would declare:  **WARM GOTH** .

Because Andrew hated the cold. And Neil was constantly teasing him for being ‘goth’ like he’d just discovered the term and thought it was a damn riot. 

He couldn’t help himself, he looked over at Neil’s desk and caught Neil standing up, craning to look across the room and watch him open it. Instead of dropping back into his chair and pretending like he wasn’t watching, Neil just grinned at him. Then, because he was Neil, he waved.

Andrew attempted to fix him with an unamused stare but gave up after menace’s grin only widened. 

Neil Josten was going to be the fucking death of him.

*****

As much as it  _ pained _ him to do so, Andrew had decided to recruit Dan to help him deliver Neil’s gift. She’d surprisingly managed to refrain from commenting, but the smug, knowing looks she shot him had him grinding his teeth. 

Still, it meant that when he and Neil got back from their mid-morning smoke break there was a small basket sitting on Neil’s desk. The sight instantly had Neil perking up beside him, and Andrew did his best to reign back the hyperactive butterflies swarming in his chest at the sight of the other man’s excitement. 

If this was how Neil always reacted to someone giving him a gift, even one as stupid as the one sitting on his desk right now, it was going to be  _ very _ difficult not to get him something every damn day. 

The basket itself was small and lacked a handle - Andrew had picked it up at the local craft store for maybe fifty cents. Inside were a collection of little toys for Sir. The one that Neil instantly zeroed in on was unsurprisingly the catnip-filled soccer ball stuffie. He grinned broadly and held it up for Andrew to see. 

Andrew rolled his eyes. “Great, now your poor cat is going to be indoctrinated as well.”

“Don’t blame me, blame my Secret Santa,” Neil said smugly, tossing the toy up in the air and catching it again. 

Andrew snorted and leaned over to peer into the basket as if he had no idea what else it held. He reached over for the tube of high-quality catnip that was nestled between two feather toys. “Oh hey, King loves this stuff.”

“Hey!” Neil swatted at his hand and scooped up the basket, clutching it close. “Those are for  _ my _ cat, thank you. Get your damn own.” He narrowed his eyes, but the blue of them were too bright, the set of his mouth too pleased, for the attempt at irritation to have any legitimacy. 

“I don’t think  _ that _ is for your cat,” Andrew couldn’t help but point out, nodding to the one object in the basket that, indeed, was not for Sir. 

Neil looked down at the basket, then frowned curiously as he plucked out the cat-shaped object. It took him a moment to figure out what it was, and when he did, he blinked - then barked out a bright, quick laugh that made Andrew’s stomach do a goodman pirouette. 

“What is it?” Andrew asked, pretending he hadn’t spent fifteen minutes arguing with the teenage brat at the customer service desk of Bed, Bath, and Beyond to check the back room to see if they had another one in overstock because the only one out on the floor had been bright pink and the website had  _ said _ they had twelve in stock of the gray and orange striped ones. 

Smiling, because apparently that’s what Neil  _ did _ now, Neil held up the object. “It’s a tea diffuser! I can hook it onto the edge of the cup and it’ll look like a cat is hanging out in my tea as it steeps.” Then he wrapped his fingers all the way around it and, like he had done with the journal just last night, he clutched it to his chest like that stupid little plastic thing was some precious treasure. 

It was pretty imperative that Neil not know the full-on gymnastics routine that his heart and lungs were coordinating with each other, so Andrew said, as dryly as possible, “Why don’t you just drink coffee like a normal person?”

The glare Neil shot him was downright  _ playful _ and did not help his situation at all.

*****

**DAY FIVE**

At the end of the work day on Friday, while Neil was trying for the third time that week to get out of going to the holiday party that evening, Andrew dropped a folded note on Neil’s desk. He didn’t wait for Neil to return and read it and instead finished packing up his own things and headed down to the front of the building to wait. The note had been simple:

_ I’ll be waiting by the bike rack. _

It only took Neil ten minutes to finish his pleading and come down. There was a smile in his voice when he said, “I knew it was you.”

Andrew hadn’t been watching the door so he turned around at the sound of Neil’s voice. “Bullshit. You had no clue.”

“Alright, maybe I wasn’t  _ completely  _ sure,” Neil acquiesced with a shrug as he drew even with him. The smirk he was wearing deepened to something a bit more inexplicable as he dragged his gaze from Andrew’s face to the scarf he was wearing, then down to where his hands were shoved into his pockets. With a sigh, Andrew pulled his hands free and showed off the gloves. 

Neil  _ beamed _ . 

“You are ridiculous,” Andrew accused. “And also terrible at the ‘Secret’ part of Secret Santa.”

Neil shrugged, utterly unbothered. “I had to choose between trying to be vague to cover my tracks and getting you what I wanted to get you. Since I didn’t really care about the whole thing to begin with, I decided to just do what I wanted.”

That sounded pretty true to course for one Neil Josten. Andrew rolled his eyes and pretended he wasn’t feeling fond. “Come on,” he said with a jerk of his head to gesture toward where his car was parked. “Your last present is at my place.”

Neil didn’t even hesitate, he just adjusted the strap of his bag and moved to walk with him into the parking lot. “I thought we were supposed to give our last gifts at the party tonight?”

“Do you want to go to the party tonight?” Andrew countered dryly as he pulled out his keys and unlocked the doors. 

“No, not really.”

“Me neither. We have each other, so it isn’t like someone is going to be left out of discovering their Santa or giving their final gift.” Once they were both in, Andrew glanced over to see Neil watching him. He couldn’t quite decipher the look on his face but it twisted things in Andrew’s chest, warming him in ways he had no intention of examining any closer that he had already been forced to over this godforsaken week. 

(Which, yes, was entirely his own fault to begin with.)

“You know,” Neil said after a moment. “This morning I had the thought that the one thing my Santa could get me that would really top the week would be if they somehow arranged it so that I didn’t have to go to this stupid party and got to just spend the evening with you instead.”

Andrew, having lost all knowledge of the English language haphazardly grabbed a few words and shoved them into a sentence. The best he could come up with?: 

“I am your Santa.”

Neil smiled at him.  _ Smiled _ . Soft and pleased and inexplicably _ , unequivocally  _ fond. “Yes,” he said. “You are.”

Very deliberately, Andrew snapped his belt in place and glared at Neil until he did the same, then he turned on the fucking car. It occurred to him, then, that his plan to bring Neil home just might work against him in ways he really should have known himself well enough to fucking anticipate.

Goddamnit.

*****

Last week, when Andrew was planning all of this, he had really decided that this -  _ this _ \- was going to be the culmination of his efforts. He had decided, in his infinite shitty gay wisdom, that having the adorable jackass he’d been crushing on for months over to his apartment and cooking him dinner was a  _ fantastic _ idea. 

Andrew Minyard was a fucking disaster.

“I am making you what may very well be the first real meal you’ve had in your life as your final gift,” Andrew Minyard, Fucking Disaster, actually said to Neil Josten, Bemused Hottie, upon arriving at Andrew’s apartment. 

Neil stared at him for what might have been thirty seconds and might have been three minutes before grinning.  _ Grinning _ . “Really? You’re going to make me dinner?”

“Seven-eleven, Neil?” Andrew countered. “ _ Seven-eleven?” _

“What? They sell popcorn chicken and taquitos and stuff.”

“Popcorn chicken,” Andrew echoed dumbly. “And taquitos.”

“And stuff,” Neil agreed with a shrug.

Andrew pointed at the living room. “Go. Sit. Amuse yourself. Dinner will be done in a half hour.” He just could not deal with all these… Neilisms at the same time. It was just too damn much. 

“Where is Leafy? I want to say hi.”

“Leafy is a succulent, he can’t understand you.” Andrew sighed at the look on Neil’s face, waving him off. “He’s in the bedroom. You can see him after dinner. Now go, you are way more trouble than usual tonight and I need to eat before I deal with you any more.”

Unbothered, Neil just gave another shrug and disappeared into the living room as Andrew slipped into the kitchen. The familiar routine of cooking, at least, helped Andrew get his blood pressure more or less under control. This was good, because when Andrew was ready to call Neil back into the kitchen for food, he stepped out into the living room to find the menace laying on the couch with King half-asleep on his chest. She was sprawled out with her paws clenching and unclenching in little biscuits in the soft fluff of the blanket that Neil had dragged off the back of the couch, purring so loudly that Andrew could hear her from the edge of the kitchen. Neil was smiling softly, trailing his fingers gently over her furry little head and down her spine, just watching her be too adorable for words. 

The sudden flash of jealousy that zipped through Andrew’s veins had him pausing for a little bit of introspection. Because it wasn’t that Neil was cuddling  _ his _ cat that had Andrew pressing his lips together in a thin line to keep them from turning down in a scowl. It wasn’t that King was showing favor to another human that had Andrew squaring his shoulders against the grip of irritation suddenly burning in his chest. 

Oh  _ no _ . No, it was that  _ King _ was getting all this attention from  _ Neil _ , and dammit, what would  _ Andrew  _ have to do to be pet and looked at like that?

Well. This was getting out of hand. Andrew cleared his throat sharply, making Neil look over at him. “Food,” he announced briskly, jerking his head back toward the kitchen in a silent order for Neil to stop indulging the cat and come eat. He didn’t wait to see if Neil was going to obey in a timely manner, but the apartment was small enough that he heard Neil cooing softly to King as he extracted himself. 

“I’m sorry, beautiful. I’ve got to have dinner with your Papa now.”

_ Mreh! _

“I know. I’m sorry. But I’ll be back afterwards, I promise. We can cuddle more then.”

_ Mrrrrep. Huff. _

“King is adorable,” Neil informed unnecessarily as he came into the kitchen. 

“She’s manipulative and you played right into her claws,” Andrew advised as he brought the plates over to the table. 

Neil only chuckled; he didn’t bother denying it. Then he got a look at the spread that Andrew had created for them and the sound stopped. When Andrew looked over at him, Neil was still standing on the threshold between the kitchen and the living room, his blue eyes wide with surprise. 

Andrew choked down a sudden surge of anxiety. He forced his voice to be dead even as he said, “What, Josten, never seen a proper meal before?”

It wasn’t  _ extravagant _ or anything, but Andrew had thought this through. He’d made fish, because he knew Neil wasn’t a big fan of red meat and had figured that what protein he did get was likely from chicken - so this would be something different. Neil wasn’t a big fan of vegetables, so he made an apple walnut salad. There was a basket of bread and rice pilaf to accompany the fish, and there would be lemon meringue for dessert - which he’d made last night and was waiting in the fridge. 

Neil opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again. He seemed to go into deep thought and Andrew swallowed down that irritating scramble of anxiety again. Instead of probing or attempting to explain the gesture, Andrew just waited for whatever Neil was going to say. At this point, there was nothing else  _ to _ be done. 

Finally, after a long moment, Neil turned around and left the kitchen without saying anything at all. Dread sunk to the pit of Andrew’s stomach like lead in the ocean. He closed his eyes and took a slow breath in, then let it out. He tried not to actively listen for the door as he turned toward the table to start cleaning up - his appetite gone.

He’d fucked up. That was that. He’d gotten ahead of himself and had just… he’d fucked up. He and Neil were  _ friends _ \- and Andrew had… he’d crossed a line somewhere along the way. He’d allowed his stupid attraction and his stupid wants to drive him when he should have… He didn’t know what he  _ should _ have done, honestly. He just knew that what he  _ had  _ done was obviously wrong. Hopefully Neil would just… well, Andrew doubted he would forget about it over the holiday but maybe when they came back they could try and pretend it never happened.

Yeah, that would be nice. Fuck.  _ Fuck. _ He really didn’t want to lose Neil. 

“What are you doing? I thought we were going to eat…” Neil’s voice startled him so much that Andrew almost dropped the plates. He looked over and saw Neil standing just inside the kitchen, two steps closer than he’d been before he’d left. In his hands was an envelope. 

Andrew slowly set the plates back down on the table and turned to face him. Neil looked a little confused and a little uncertain. If Andrew didn’t know any better he’d think he was  _ nervous _ , but that didn’t make sense - not when Andrew was the one who’d just made a fucking fool of himself. 

“I just went to get this,” Neil said after a heavy beat of awkward silence. He held up the envelope. Then, after a moment of hesitation, he held it out to Andrew. 

The envelope was fairly light and contained two thin slips of cardstock that revealed themselves to be tickets as Andrew pulled them out.  _ Tickets _ . For a very exclusive, private book-signing and Q&A being hosted by not one but  _ two _ of Andrew’s favorite authors. Only fifty tickets had been available and they sold out within  _ minutes _ of going on sale two weeks ago. Andrew stared at them for a long moment, his brain stuttering and whirring to try and put the pieces together. 

“You must have gotten these before the Secret Santa thing,” he finally said, speaking slowly. For some reason he was still struggling to compute exactly what was happening right now.

“Yes,” Neil said. His voice was softer, now, but it was steady. Sure. 

“You do not particularly care for either of these authors.”

“No I don’t,” Neil agreed.

“But you got two tickets.”

“You care about them.” 

Andrew looked at Neil. Neil looked at Andrew. Neil gave the smallest, tiniest smile, and --

“ _ Oh. _ ”

Neil cleared his throat, his cheeks flushing lightly. “Andrew, I think we accidentally got each other the same thing for Christmas.”

It was suddenly very hard to speak. His throat was dry and tight, hope clinging like a vice around his voice. He had to clear his throat, twice. “A dinner and a book signing?” he asked, because he wanted - he  _ needed  _ \- to hear Neil say it, out loud, so he knew he wasn’t fucking hallucinating.

Neil huffed out an annoyed sigh and took another step forward. “A  _ date _ ,” Neil clarified, searching his face for...  _ something.  _ Whatever it was, he must have found it, because after only a moment he  _ smiled _ . 

He really, really needed to stop doing that. Or  _ keep  _ doing that. Or…  _ fuck _ . 

Andrew scowled at him, which only made Neil brighten. He pointed to the table. “Sit the fuck down, Josten. Your food is getting cold.”

“Is that a yes?” Neil said with  _ far _ too much cheek as he moved to take his seat. “You never gave me an answer.”

“Well you never asked a question,” Andrew shot back, more grumbling than scathing at this point as he, too, pulled out his chair to sit down. 

Neil hummed in thought, as if assessing whether or not his idiotic approach to… to  _ this _ counted as a question. Apparently he decided Andrew was right because after a moment he looked across the table and met his eyes as he asked, “Andrew MInyard, would you like to go out with me, Neil Josten, on a date?”

“Jesus fuck, Josten, what - are you asking me out to the prom?”

Neil laughed. “Yes or no, Andrew. Just answer the fucking question.”

Against his will, Andrew felt the corner of his mouth quirk up in amusement. He shook his head, then sighed before picking up a slice of bread and chucking it at Neil. Of course, the fucking menace caught it. 

“ _ Well? _ ” he pressed lightly.

Andrew rolled his eyes, but that quirk was already twitching into something wider - was already curling into a smile. 

“Yes, Neil,” he finally said. “ _ Yes _ .”


End file.
